


The Birds Sing After the Storm

by shadowsapiens



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Empathic Bond, Fix-It, Getting Together, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-What Makes the Sky Blue III: 000 (Granblue Fantasy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: Paradise always shines brighter when Sandalphon is here. The flowers smell sweeter, the coffee tastes richer. The breeze rustles more loudly through the trees. It feels almost like he has a purpose again.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	The Birds Sing After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurrys/gifts).



> Happy Halloween, azurrys! Thank you so much for the wonderful requests and Lucifer/Sandalphon feelings.

Lucifer first feels it in the garden, on one of Sandalphon’s visits. It’s been a year since he came here—which feels like a century and a week ago all at once—and as Sandalphon settles into his power, visiting the garden becomes easier and easier. 

Lucifer likes this. Paradise always shines brighter when Sandalphon is here. The flowers smell sweeter, the coffee tastes richer. The breeze rustles more loudly through the trees. It feels almost like he has a purpose again. 

Sandalphon’s late today. Lucifer doesn’t mind; he can be patient, and Sandalphon has so many important tasks in the realm below. But he can’t help his concern at the exhaustion in Sandalphon’s eyes, the scorch marks on his armor. 

“I’m sorry.” Sandalphon brushes soot off his shoulder. “I should have changed, it’s just, I was already late, and—”

“You’ve had a hard day,” Lucifer says softly.

A year ago, a millennium ago, Sandalphon might have protested. Today he just looks away and mutters, “Yeah.”

Coffee can wait. Lucifer takes him by the hand and leads him outside. Sandalphon’s hand is so much smaller than his, and Lucifer likes that just as much as he likes everything else about him. They fit together just right. And Sandalphon follows him so obediently, Lucifer’s heart warms with satisfaction. 

This is the way things should be, he thinks. “Sit here with me.”

There’s a stretch of soft grass beneath a flowering tree. Sandalphon sits, and under the dappled sunlight, for all his armor and scowling and sharp edges, he looks softer. Lucifer likes Sandalphon in every form, but he especially likes this, because it’s only for him. 

That’s when he feels it: as he kneels down behind Sandalphon, a flicker of nervousness. It’s gone in an instant, but Lucifer is certain it isn’t his own.

“Lucifer?”

He rests a hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, feeling the tension vibrating through his armor. “Let me help you relax,” he says, “like I used to.”

Another strange hint of nervousness, even though Lucifer himself is calm and content.

“You don’t have to.” From Sandalphon, that’s as good as a plea to continue. 

Lucifer brushes the hair from his neck. He doesn’t mind that Sandalphon flinches at the touch; Sandalphon has always driven himself towards pain and flinched away from comfort. Lucifer only feels thankful that Sandalphon allows him so close, despite everything. 

He touches gently at first, finding the tension in Sandalphon’s neck, the base of his skull. He takes his time rediscovering the delicate balance of Sandalphon’s bones and exploring the lingering weight of new stresses and old. He tries to think what it means that he can feel Sandalphon relaxing. Not just physically, but the tentative joy, so close to his own that he might not have noticed the difference were he not seeking it. 

He almost says something. He should say something. Sandalphon should know, if this connection is a new manifestation of the wings Lucifer burdened him with. But Sandalphon sighs and melts so sweetly under his touch. Lucifer find himself far too selfish to interrupt that peace.

***

He’s re-planting a rose bush the next time he feels it. Kneeling down as he presses the dirt down over the roots, the damp earth soaking through his trousers and crumbling between his fingers, the paradise sun warm on his back—

Sudden cold pain through his lungs. He flinches, staggering to his feet, reaching for a sword he isn’t wearing, before he realizes the pain isn’t his.

It’s not physical pain. It’s a dagger’s blade of longing, sharp enough to flay the soul.

Lucifer touches his heart and closes his eyes. He concentrates on the emotion, trying to catch any sensation or image attached. He wants to know, more than anything, what Sandalphon wants. What he yearns for so powerfully that Lucifer aches for it as well. 

He doesn’t notice the thorn marks on his fingers until they start to heal.

***

Time passes gently in the garden. Lucifer is content to relax, to brew coffee, to paint, to watch flowers bloom and fall. That contentment is part of the magic of the place, Lucifer knows. Never before has he been so at peace in idleness. He knows logically, though he doesn’t _feel_ it, that he should visit the skies below, to restore his frame of reference.

“I believe we’re strong enough now,” he says on Sandalphon’s next visit. “You could pull me through, and I could survive it.”

The flare of joy is brief. Sandalphon twists his coffee mug around on the table, and his lips press tight together. “I will not be reckless with your wellbeing.” 

Lucifer can’t help but chuckle. “I never thought I’d say you were too cautious, Sandalphon.” 

“It isn’t humorous,” Sandalphon snaps. “I want to, you know I—I’m not ready.” Fear and self-doubt rise like fog around him, dampening Lucifer’s laughter.

He reaches out and takes Sandalphon’s hands. Delights in their warmth, in the way Sandalphon sits still for him. “I believe in you,” Lucifer says. “But I’m happy to wait as long as you need.”

“I want to.” Sandalphon’s hands twist in his. Their fingers twine together. “Sunrise is lonely without you. And sometimes everyone else is so _annoying_.”

There are sunrises in the garden, but they’re too beautiful, and all the same. They’re nothing near as captivating as Sandalphon’s face twisted in a scowl, or his hair falling in his eyes. Lucifer runs his thumb along Sandalphon’s, and watches his expression soften. That’s captivating too.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says quietly. 

Sandalphon closes his eyes for a moment. “Next time.”

“Next time.” Lucifer smiles and disentangles their hands. He can’t tell whose reluctance he feels at the separation. He reaches for the pot. “More coffee?”

***

_Next time_ is not a scheduled visit. Lucifer wakes from dreamless sleep into a borrowed nightmare: Sandalphon’s nausea and agony, his unrelenting fear. The pain reverberates through his bones, shakes him so hard he thinks for a moment he’ll break apart. And worse than that, the same longing as before, clear as broken glass.

Lucifer doesn’t stop to think. He seizes the pain, the fear, that essence of Sandalphon that breaches the chasm between worlds, and he throws himself into it. 

Blinding light and heat, there and gone in an instant. Lucifer stumbles on a swaying wooden surface. Everything is dark and silent as his senses catch up with the transition. Then sensation pours over him: cold night air, piercing rush of wind, shocked voices clamoring. The sight of a familiar airship deck, and a familiar crew of skyfarers. 

“What the hell,” says one voice. The helmsman, Lucifer remembers, but can’t quite reach his name. He’s still dizzy from the transfer.

The girl in blue is closest to him; she takes a step back, hand to her heart. “Lucifer!” she yelps. There’s a brief glow under her hand. “It’s really you! You’re here!”

The night brightens beneath the edge of vision when another form emerges from belowdecks. The Singularity, her pale hair in disarray, fresh blood on her armor and flannel. A small dog follows at her heels. She runs up, undaunted, and grabs Lucifer’s arm. “He’s in his room,” she says. She knows why he’s there. “He won’t let us in.”

“Thank you,” he says, or thinks he says. He can’t hear himself speak or think, when Sandalphon’s distress rings so loudly in his mind.

He catches only snapshots of the Singularity’s explanation as she guides him below. A primal beast, not strong, but cunning. A confusion hex. “He cast Ain Soph Aur on _himself_.”

Lucifer stops at the door, which shimmers, impassable. “Please don’t disturb us.”

“Of course not,” she answers. Hesitates. “He’s been calling for you.”

That he knows, with every fiber of his being. 

The shimmering fades at his touch. Sandalphon has never made a lock that could keep him out. Lucifer presses his forehead to the wood—marvels briefly at the texture, how much rougher and colder it is than any surface in the garden—and calls out: “Sandalphon.”

Silence rolls like thunder through the enclosed space. Then a rough, ragged voice replies, “Don’t torment me. I know you aren’t real.”

“Sandalphon,” he says again. “I’m coming in.”

The room is dark when he enters. The only light sparks from Sandalphon’s wings, wrapped tightly around him as he curls in a corner of the bed. Pain echoes through the room, tinting the shadows red. 

“It’s all right,” Lucifer says, closing the door behind him. Fumbling for a lantern. His heart hurts when Sandalphon flinches at his words. “Let me look at you.”

Sandalphon’s wings tremble with the effort of manifestation. They look fragile in the lantern light, nearly transparent. Sandalphon is clearly too exhausted to maintain them any longer tonight, and when Lucifer steps closer, they vanish in a shower of sparks. Without wings, he looks smaller than ever. His knees pull up to his chest, and his head bows. His pale hands are spotted with blood.

“Leave me alone,” he whispers.

Lucifer sits next to him on the bed. “When you’re healed, I’ll do anything you ask.”

He touches Sandalphon’s shoulder, and Sandalphon freezes. He stays utterly still, even as a whirlwind of fear and want and guilt scours his heart. Lucifer gathers his breath and leans closer. Lifts up Sandalphon’s face to see reddened eyes, bruises under the tear stains. No hint of recognition. He needs to lift the mental effects before the rest of the injuries. 

“My poor Sandalphon,” Lucifer murmurs. “Hold still.”

He places his palm on Sandalphon’s forehead and concentrates. He’s no longer the supreme primarch, but he can still heal. Perhaps this is his new purpose: to put Sandalphon back together when he breaks. He could get used to that. Energy emanates softly from his palm, gently soaking through Sandalphon’s troubled mind.

With their bond, Lucifer can feel the confusion fading. He knows it’s worked when, with a snap of clarity, Sandalphon’s distress gives way to embarrassment—then distress once more. 

“You’re here,” Sandalphon breathes. He scrambles forward, grabbing Lucifer’s arms, his shoulders, touching his neck. His eyes are wide with panic, his hands trembling. “You’re all right, please be all right. Why are you here? Why didn’t you wait? The risk—”

Even bleeding and exhausted, Sandalphon’s first concern is for him. And beneath that distress burns a desperation for once undisguised, brighter than paradise and deeper than the skies. Sandalphon’s need for him dragged him back into this world; now it drags him forward once again, and he kisses the panic from Sandalphon’s lips.

***

The deck of the Grandcypher sways beneath their feet, and the rising sun paints the skies pink and gold before them. They stand alone at the railing—most of the crew is still asleep, and giving them a respectful berth after instructions from Djeeta.

Sandalphon says, “I should tell you something.”

The light reflects golden in Sandalphon’s hair. Lucifer touches the ends of it, fingers brushing the shell of Sandalphon’s ear, and Sandalphon lets him. “What is it?”

“I should have told you sooner.” This time, Sandalphon is the one who moves closer. He leans his head against Lucifer’s shoulder. His nervousness is feather-light against the weight of contentment. “I think I can feel your emotions sometimes. When I’m—when I miss you, and reach out, sometimes I feel something. I thought it was wishful thinking.”

Lucifer should have known. Nothing between them has ever truly been one-sided.

He wraps his arm around Sandalphon’s back, his hand fitting perfectly at his waist. “Sometimes I feel yours too.” He presses a kiss to the top of Sandalphon’s head. Inhales. “It comforts me.”

He doesn’t need to look to know that Sandalphon’s face is as pink as the dawn. They lean closer together and watch the light fill the sky.


End file.
